To Have and To Hold
by MapleWolf
Summary: Whenever Roderich has a migraine, Gilbert always knows just what to do.


De-anon from the kink meme.

This can be read as a Human AU, or just human names in Canon!verse, whichever you prefer.

* * *

Roderich knows it's coming when that damned spot fills his vision, dancing in front of everything as he tries to ignore it and keep working. His paperwork has piled up, filling the in-box and overflowing onto his desk, and he has no time to pander to the dull pounding behind his eyes, like a poorly performed rendition of the finale of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Not if he wants to be able to take the evening off for the first time in weeks, to celebrate the anniversary of Gilbert's finally working up the courage to ask him out.

"Damn," Roderich allows himself the moment he realizes what the growing pain and the spot of light that seems to prance across his papers mean. Closing his eyes, he laughs hoarsely through his teeth before shaking his head –and flinching at the sharp pain the movement initiates –forcing himself to get back to work after swallowing a pill for the pain. Hoping that it's enough because he'd forgotten to get a new bottle and there is no more if the one doesn't work.

Within thirty minutes the spot is gone and the single pill isn't enough. His head is pounding so hard that he has to fight down the bile that builds in his throat. It has grown from one orchestra monstrosity to a thousand orchestras each playing something different as they fight for dominance in his skull.

He's an idiot, thinking to outrun the trainwreck that is a migraine, and he knows it.

So much for celebrating his anniversary.

Everything hurts, the glow of the florescent light that illuminates the room, the rustle of papers as he tries to keep pushing through the work that has to be done, even the movement that he can't help, the back and forth of his arms as he drags the pen across the paper, the nodding of his head as he leans over to block out the light and still see the words that seem so tiny all of a sudden, and he wants nothing more than to just crawl into a hole and sleep for a century until the pain stops.

Knowing that he will not be able to complete any more paperwork, he tries to stand, to make it to the couch on the other side of his office where he can hide his eyes beneath the decorative throw and sleep the migraine off, but it only makes him want to puke up the sandwich he'd eaten for lunch before he's back in the chair, cradling his head and breathing deeply in an effort to fight back tears and the nauseousness.

Resting his head against a cushion of paperwork, he wraps his arms around his head in a futile attempt to block out the light and the sounds – the humming of the lightbulb, the beating of his own heart, even the flow of the air as the system pumps it in to cool the room down seems to have been magnified a thousand times solely to cause him more pain.

When the phone rings, the sound pierces his skull like a blade, but he bites his lip to keep from being sick and somehow manages to press the button to answer it before it can ring again, without lifting his head from the desk.

"Ja?"

"Hey, Specs! How ya doing?" Gilbert's voice has never seemed so grating before, as he continues speaking without waiting for an answer. "Listen, I made the reservations for six, is that gonna be okay?"

Roderich can't bring himself to answer through the guilt mixing in his stomach and the pain tearing through his skull.

"Specs? You there?"

"I'm sorry, Gil," it hurts to speak, but somehow he manages it, keeping his voice low and his speech even. "I won't be able to make it tonight."

"Is something wrong, Rod? You don't sound so good."

"No," he doesn't want to admit to his foolishness at not resting the moment the migraine began to present itself. "I just – I'm just not feeling well. I'm sorry."

"Specs, tell me what's wr-"

He turns off the speaker, effectively cutting Gilbert off mid-word. His head hurts too much to care that Gilbert will probably be furious when they next see each other, or that he will have to do something very special to make up for missing their anniversary. He doesn't even care that he's crying silently from disappointment and pain and guilt as he hunches down over his desk, covering his eyes as he tries to sleep.

He just wants the pain to go away.

_XX_

"-ong." Gilbert finishes to the tone of the closed line. Roderich had hung up on him. "Fuck!"

He slams his phone shut, glaring at his computer for a moment. Roderich had really sounded bad, voice low and controlled as though it hurt to talk, and yet he hadn't sounded raspy or muffled like he had a cold.

Gilbert knows what's wrong – it happens too often for him not to know, because whenever Roderich forgets to take care of himself, he gets headaches. Horrible headaches that leave him useless and cringing from any sound or light that happens near him. One of the few things that will allow him to let himself hang up like that without warning, simply because it hurts too much to keep listening.

With a click of the mouse, Gilbert cancels the reservations, and closes his laptop as he begins to compile a list of things he's going to need in his head. It is a little disappointing that he won't get to use the tickets to Mozart's _Così fan __tutte _that he's been holding on to for a month now, especially because he'd really wanted to give Roderich a good time, but Roderich needs him.

And there is no more awesome way to spend an anniversary than to spend time caring for the one he loves. At least, so long as Roderich doesn't put up too much of a fuss at being "coddled" in his hour of need this time.

Grabbing a spare blanket from the closet,the fresh pillow from the guest bedroom that Feliciano never uses, and his own homemade "Roddie's Headache Kit", Gilbert drops the envelope with the opera tickets into Ludwig's lap with a "Why don't you take Feli out for once?" before hopping into the truck and making his way to the store.

He picks up a bottle of apple juice and some crackers – experience has taught him that Roderich isn't capable of consuming anything heavier than a cracker when he's really suffering – and then he's off to Roderich's office, speeding through traffic in his rush.

_XX_

"No," Roderich moans as his door hinge screeches in opening. "Please," he begs quietly, clutching his skull, "just go away."

"Shit, Specs," Prussia's voice is softer than his usual noisy self, the door being closed as quietly as it can behind him. "It's that bad?"

The light is switched off before he can formulate a response, the relief on his aching eyes more than he'd believed possible, and then there's a blanket around his shoulders as gentle hands massage his aching back gently.

"Why didn't you lie down on the couch?"

"Hurts too much."

"Can you stand?"

"Don't know."

Roderich whimpers deep in his throat as Gilbert eases him up, even the slow, careful movements enough to jolt his aching head.

"S'alright, Roddie. Just to the couch, okay? To the couch and then you can rest."

"Mm."

It's only a matter of minutes, as painful and agonizing as they are, before Roderich is sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a soft pillow cushioning his head where it rests on Gilbert's lap, and Gilbert's calloused hands resting so lightly over his eyes as though to shield him from the world.

He's tired and hurting, but Roderich manages to apologize once more for the cock-up he's made of their special day. "M'sorry, Gil," he mumbles.

"Hey, you just sleep, 'kay Specs? I'll take awesome care of you, and then we'll do something nice next week – I'll bet there's a ballet or something going on somewhere."

Roderich smiles through the pain, allowing his eyes to fall shut with fatigue as Gilbert's hands expertly ease the tension in his head.

_xx_

When Roderich wakes, the pain has eased somewhat, thanks in part to the mask he can feel on his face that leaves him staring into the soothing darkness and the plugs in his ears that muffle the ambient sounds until they don't hurt anymore.

He's still in Gilbert's lap, with a hand on his chest and another over his face, and he knows that nothing will hurt him so long as Gilbert holds him like this. He whispers a quiet "thank you" into the silence.

He's already asleep again, before Gilbert answers, equally quiet, "Love you too, Specs."


End file.
